


Growing Things and People

by SinBin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bridge to Terabithia - Freeform, Creature Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 13:01:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6755029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinBin/pseuds/SinBin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek can't let go of Stiles, the little boy who saved his family-- who saved him-- from the worst mistake of his life.<br/>The Sheriff insists that it's okay but nothing's been "okay" for Derek in a long, long time.</p>
<p>"Derek is young and in love and stupid. That's how this story starts. He's in love with a woman who smells like gun smoke, who smells like lavender, who smells like blood."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Growing Things and People

**Author's Note:**

> It is 2 am and I AM FILLED WITH FEELINGS.

Derek is young and in love and _stupid_. That's how this story starts. He's in love with a woman who smells like gun smoke, who smells like lavender, who smells like blood.

She smiles and he's helpless in front of her. He doesn't see the broken promises or the promises she's made before he ever knew her name. He doesn't guard his heart and he doesn't guard his secrets. He doesn't know the difference between belonging _with_ someone and belonging _to_ them.

Derek is young and in love and stupid because he's never had a reason to smell anything but the lavender before.

So now he's trapped outside his house, hands burnt from pounding on a mountain ash barrier, as his family sheds sleep enchantments. He's trapped outside his home as his pack wakes up, smells the smoke and begins to _burn_.

"No!' He pounds against the barrier and it sparks against him. His eyes are beta yellow and bright, so bright against the forest. There's smoke in his lungs and he knows it's dangerous to be close to a blaze this size. "No!"

"Derek."

Derek whirls around, face streaked with tears and grime. There's a kid standing behind him, a small kid with whiskey eyes and a buzz cut too severe for the softness in his face. He recognizes the kid from the library. Yeah, the library, the little guy is always in there reading.

"Run," Derek says. His throat is raw and he wants nothing more than to send this kid to try and break the line but he's not-- he can't--he's not a monster. "Get out of here, it's- it's dangerous."

The kid (Stiles, his name is _Stiles)_ doesn't look anything like he should. His eyes are watching Derek and the fire and they're calm, ancient, serene. He's not panicked, his hands loose at his sides, he's open and trusting and _calm_.

"It's okay," Stiles says. His strange eyes flick to the house and his mouth firms. "I'll save them."

And that's-- that's everything Derek wants to hear right now. He wants to hear that everything is okay, that the screams aren't building, that he hasn't destroyed his family.

This is a kid, he's not going to let a kid-- he can't--

He catches Stiles by the arm, stopping his forward momentum. "Y-you'll die. If you go in there, you'll--"

"It's okay," Stiles says. He smiles and he looks innocent, like a faun, backdropped by the hell that's become of Derek's home. He shakes off Derek's grip with too much strength for his body and he's _gone_.

Derek can hear the screaming and the coughs and he thinks _I did this, I led them to this, this is my fault, now Stiles is in there--_

And then Laura is on her knees next to him, coughing up her lungs, arms wrapped around the baby. She vomits onto the ground, black sludge, smoke, ash, and looks up, her eyes flicking between yellow and red.

"Derek--what--?"

There's the smell of summer on the air, above the smoke, and then Peter is beside them, half-burned and unconscious.

"Uncle Peter!" Derek falls to his knees beside him, hands fluttering. He's not healing, how is he not healing--

Peter coughs, chokes, and breathes normally. The undamaged half of his face contorts and his blue eyes shoot open. "Cora!" He struggles to his feet and there's the terrible sound of his dry skin _cracking_. He doesn't seem to notice. "Cora!"

"There's a barrier," Derek says, voice breaking on every syllable. He's so afraid and he's stunned. How are they here? Where was the kid? Where did Stiles go?

Peter doesn't seem to hear him. He stumbles and hits the barrier full on, causing it to spark and splutter. His eyes are wild. "CORA!"

A roar, an alpha roar, echoes over the crackling of the fire and Derek feels his heart stop. That had been Mom, that had been his Alpha. Was she-- was she--

A hulking figure appears in the charring doorway of their house. The smoke breaks and, through it, Derek can see Alpha red. His mom is still in the house and on her shoulders is Cora and Malia. Behind him he can see the indistinct shapes of Dad and Tom and Lucille and the little ones, they must have the little ones.

_They're going to make it_ , Derek thinks, shaking with relief. _Mom's got them, the others must be behind them, they have to be walking--_

The house screams; the fire arcs higher and higher. The Alpha red brightens through the thick, black smoke. The second floor caves in. The first begins to groan.

"No," Laura breathes, staring into the flames. "No, no, no, no--"

The first floor is going to go. The fire is too much, too fierce and they're going to be buried in the same walls that used to shelter them.

That's what's supposed to happen. The flames are supposed to consume the Hales, scorch their photographs from the walls, render their legacy obsolete.

But then there is Stiles.

He climbs on top of the ruins of the second floor, small hands grasping at broken wood and slipping tiles. He stands on top of the house, the house that's about to be completely destroyed.

From here, Derek can smell him. He smells like sweat, tears, and summer.

Stiles jerks a hand out, towards them and, impossibly, Derek is surrounded by his family. His mom is unconscious, buried under the pack member's she's carried, cradled by Derek's father, Adrian.

There's the toddlers, there are his aunts and uncles and cousins--

His eyes jerk back to Stiles.

Stiles who tips his head back, seemingly unaware that his skin is being turned black by the heat. He looks up at the sky and Derek sees his mouth open.

The fire arcs from the house. Stiles drinks the fire down, all of it, and it seems impossible and endless and _impossible_.

But he does it. And when the fire ends, when there's nothing but smoke rising from the ruins of their house, he closes his mouth. Swallows. Looks at the Hales.

His eyes are not Alpha red. They're green, spring green, brilliant green. They turn from that green to orange, the fall of orange, then finally to the whiskey Derek had seen before. Then his eyes go black and he collapses, convulses, go still.

Derek can hear Stiles' heart. He hears it slow. He hears it stop.

He doesn't remember a lot after that.

\-----------------------------------------------------

"Sheriff," Talia Hale says. "I don't-- your son saved my family. He sacrificed himself for my family. I can't-- we can't ever repay that." She looks heartbroken, destroyed.

Derek huddles under the blanket the paramedics left him, stares into his coffee. This is his fault. _His fault_. The kid-- the kid is lying under his own blanket, twenty feet from him and  _there's no heartbeat._

The Sheriff doesn't say anything to them. He ducks his head and walks away.

Derek goes back to staring at his coffee.

Soon the paramedics leave. The other police officers leave, statements taken. Derek hadn't had to say anything other than Kate's name. Laura had dropped her arm around him and done the rest after that.

The air smells like the fire. It smells like gunpowder and lavender and blood. Derek can barely keep himself human because _he did this_. He deserved to die. Not the kid. _Not anybody else_.

"Der," Laura whispers in his ear. Her voice is filled with tears. "Der, it wasn't your fault."

"It was," Derek says. They're the first words he's spoken since Kate's name. "I--you almost died. The entire pack. My fault." His eyes are drawn to Stiles' still form, still laying on the ground. The Sheriff is hunched over his son, a moment of silence before the coroner comes. "He died because of me."

He can feel his face shift. His claws come out, puncturing the cup in his hands. He's a monster, he killed that kid, he did it. It's all his fault.

"Control yourself," Talia Hale commands. Her eyes flash red and Derek is suddenly human again and feeling worse than before.

"Mom," he says and his voice breaks. "I--I'm sorry."

"We're safe," Talia Hale says. She reaches out and places a comforting hand on Derek's shoulder. "We're alive. This--" she gestures to the house behind her "--is _not_ your fault."

"The Sheriff lost his son because of me," Derek says. His eyes once again stray to Stiles' body. "I--I killed him."

"Mrs. Hale," the Sheriff says, much closer than any of them had realized. He's standing quietly behind Talia and his face is drawn and pale. "Do you mind if I speak to your son?"

Derek's stomach drops. He doesn't want to talk to the man of the boy he's killed. He has to though. He has too. He owes him so _so_ much more.

The Sheriff steps up to Derek. He's an imposing man, broad-shouldered and stern. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy.

Derek can't bear to look at him. He looks at his feet instead, face burning with his shame.

His head jerks up as the Sheriff lays a large, warm hand on his shoulder. Instead of the revulsion Derek expected, there's a kind look on the Sheriff's face.

"Derek," the Sheriff says. "I'm so sorry this has happened to you. To your family."

Derek's heart thunders in his chest. The Sheriff is saying sorry to _him_? He's the one who fell for Kate's lies! He's the one who told her about werewolves! He's the one who-- who--

"I killed your son," Derek says, voice rough. He looks into the Sheriff's eyes with a wild desperation. "I--I'm sorry, I tried to stop him--"

"I know you did," the Sheriff says kindly. "He's like his mother was. If he's got it in his head to do something there isn't anything that can stop him."

"Stop!" Derek cries, jolting to his feet. He feels out of his mind. "Don't-- don't comfort me,   _I killed your son!_ "

"No," the Sheriff says firmly. "You didn't."

Derek gapes at him.

"Stiles takes after me there at least," the Sheriff continues with a wry smile.

"Stiles is dead," Derek says. He hears Laura gasp at his bluntness but he keeps his eyes fastened on the Sheriff, determined to understand. "His heart stopped-- He saved us, saved _me_. He shouldn't have--"

"Derek," the Sheriff says very firmly. "First, let me make something clear. My son sacrificed this life for you and your family without a second thought. He did it because he knows that the world is better off with all of you in it, this _forest_ is better with all of you in it. I couldn't be prouder of him, regardless of the cost." He leans in, meeting Derek's eyes. "I need you trust what I say next. Derek, can you do that?"

Mutely, Derek nods.

The Sheriff reaches out, cups the back of his neck. _"It's going to be okay_."

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

They bury Stiles in the forest, a little ways from the Hale house. Deaton and Talia argue about it for days, hushed whispers in the kitchen when they think Derek and the other kids aren't listening. Derek doesn't know _exactly_ what they fight about but he knows it's about Stiles. Or rather, Stiles' body.

The Sheriff digs the grave himself, seemingly ignoring Deaton's glares with ease. He digs and sweats and _smiles_ at Derek like he's not burying his son's body. Like Stiles' arms and legs aren't burned, like his eyes aren't blank and sightless.

Talia gives him permission. She would probably give the Sheriff anything he asked. She'd already told him about them being werewolves, something the Sheriff had already seemed to know.

"There are more things on Earth than there are in Heaven," he says in response to their surprise. He smiles and it's the smile of a dead boy. "That's what my wife used to say."

He comes to visit Stiles every day. He refuses the grave stone, says it's not necessary. He comes after work, looks drawn and tired each time but happy. He sits in front of the mound of dirt and he talks and talks and talks.

Derek sometimes listens, tentatively like a thief.

"You can talk to him too, you know," the Sheriff says a month after Derek killed his son. his voice is, as always, pleasant and kind. Derek's claws score new marks in the tree he's hiding behind.

He steps out to face the Sheriff. He doesn't say that it's impossible to talk to the dead. He doesn't say that he thinks Stiles would rather spit on him than talk to him. He thinks that might take something away from the Sheriff and Derek can't do that again.

"I wouldn't know what to say," Derek says finally. He's surprised that it's the truth.

The Sheriff chuckles. "Anything. Everything. Kid has a motor mouth himself, this might be your only chance to get a word in edgewise."

Derek...doesn't know what to do with that.

But he does begin to talk to Stiles. Never when the Sheriff is there, never when he thinks any of his family can hear him, never when Laura follows him.

He talks to Stiles in the cool wind of spring. He talks about high school and going into his junior year. He talks about his family and how thankful Stiles saved them. He talks about how he met Kate.

It becomes a routine for him. Go to school, do his homework. By then the Sheriff is gone and Derek can talk to Stiles' grave until dinner time. Sometimes he talks. Sometimes he reads. Sometimes he just stares.

One day, in the winter after he killed Stiles, Derek stiffens in shock. There's a little boy, about 10, standing in front of Stiles' grave.

"Who are you?" Derek growls. He doesn't like anyone else here, not where Stiles is.

The boy jumps and turns revealing panicked eyes and a lopsided jaw. "I--I'm Scott. Stiles is my best friend." He fumbles in his pocket, comes up with an inhaler, and shakily takes a puff.

Great,  Derek had just yelled at a kid with asthma. He turns to go.

"Wait!" Scott calls. "Wait, you're Derek, right?"

Derek turns. "What?"

Scott nods. "Yeah, you-- you, um, probably don't remember but Stiles and me, um, we were in your reading group. At the library."

Derek, abruptly, remembers what Scott is talking about. Last year, Talia had insisted that Laura and Derek volunteer at the library, reading aloud to younger age groups. He'd been moody and unwilling; Kate was more interesting. But he'd gone and he'd picked up one of the suggested books at random.

He vaguely remembers whiskey colored eyes staring at him, enraptured. He hadn't paid the kids any attention, had absent mindedly answered their questions with moody answers.

His mouth is dry.

"It meant a lot to him," Scott says. "Um, what you read. His-- his mom died and it-- it helped."

Derek breathes shallowly.

Scott fidgets. He blurts, "He'll tell you. When he wakes up."

"Stiles isn't waking up," Derek says through numb lips. What had he read? Why couldn't he remember?

"The Sheriff said he would," Scott says. "I believe him."

"Why?" _Why would you believe a man who's so obviously in denial_?

Scott shrugs. "Because he said that it's going to be okay."

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Derek can't remember the book. It had been a chapter book but not very advanced. They'd been eight or nine at the time so it's not-- it's not rocket science.

He needs to find that book. He doesn't know why but he has too. He has to remember it, remember it for Stiles.

He goes to Laura.

"God, I can barely remember that," she says, scrunching her nose. She's supposed to be meditating, some sort of alpha exercise assigned by their mother.

"Just...try," Derek says, trying not to growl.

Laura flops back on her bed, blowing out air. "Fine, grumpy. I think I remember someone telling me that it was a little mature for them. Or too long?"

"It was a chapter book," Derek says.

Laura hums, closes her eyes. "It had someone named 'Leslie' in it. A kid cried because the character was a girl and he was a boy with the same name." Her eyes pop open and she sits up. "And then he was sad because, in the book, Leslie died."

It comes rushing back to Derek then-- the book, the room, the tears, the whiskey eyes. He'd thought himself above it all, hadn't cared when Leslie never came back over the bridge.

He strides out of the room purposefully and ignores Laura's sarcastic "Thank you."

_Bridge to Terabithia_. Stiles had liked _Bridge to Terabithia._

\----------------------------------------------

Derek cracks the book open, it's new, glossy cover sliding against his fingers. He clears his throat, looking at Stiles' grave and then back at the book.

" _Ba-room, ba-room, ba-room, baripity, baripity, baripity, baripity._ Good. His dad had the pickup going..."

\------------------------------------------------------

It's been almost a year since Derek killed Stiles when the Sheriff starts staying longer at his son's grave. He's no longer smiling when he comes, he seems earnest, anticipatory.

Derek stays away for three days before he has to give in. Jess is worried about the rain and has decided to tell Leslie that he won't be going to Terabithia.  He has to tell Stiles what happens next.

The Sheriff manages a strained smile for Derek when he sees him and then a surprised, bright smile when Derek begins to read.

He doesn't interrupt Derek as Jess gets invited to the Smithsonian, as he asks permission from his Mom. He listens as Jess has the best day ever.

Then Jess returns home and Derek doesn't know if he can do this.

_"He was all the way into the kitchen before he realized that something was wrong_ ," Derek reads. His voice sounds hoarse and he clears his throat before continuing. He reads about how there's no food on the table; everyone is worried.

_"Your girl friend's dead, and Momma thought you was dead, too."_

Derek stops there, at the end of the chapter, and he feels like he's choking. Tears are gathering in his eyes, hot and fast, _and it's been almost a year since he killed Stiles._

He curls into a ball, forgetting the Sheriff, and covers his arms with his head. He's crying for the first time since the fire, crying for himself and for his family and _for Stiles_.

When warm arms wrap around him and pull him close, Derek doesn't have the presence of mind to argue. Instead he's comforted by the embrace and he leans into, sobbing and sobbing and sobbing.

"Hey, hey, hey," the Sheriff says, stroking his hair. "Son, it's going to be okay."

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Sheriff talks to him as he holds him. He tells him about how what happened was not okay. He tells him that it wasn't his fault. He tells him that, even though he didn't blame Derek, he could have forgiveness if he wants it.

Derek doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't know what he could say to that.

"I'm not the person I should be," Derek says. "I-- I'm not the good guy Stiles thought I was." His hand strokes the book unconsciously. "I didn't-- I'm not good enough."

The Sheriff gives him his space, when he wants it, and the look he gives him might very well be able straight to Derek's soul. "It's hard to accept forgiveness when you can't forgive yourself."

Derek feels struck. He--he _couldn't_ forgive himself. Not when no one else was holding him accountable.

The Sheriff must read something on his face because his mouth twists with chagrin. "How about you read one more chapter? I think Stiles will like that."

Derek scoots the rest of the away from the Sheriff, swiping at his eyes. He opens the book without looking up again, thankful for the reprieve

" _Something whirled around in Jess' head..."_

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Derek thinks a lot about forgiveness. It doesn't seem fair that someone could just _give_ it to him. Not when he was the only one who knew he didn't deserve it. He needed to be able to tell them that he was guilty and damaged and broken--

The words could never come out.

His father and mother exchange worried glances over his head. He knows they think he's withdrawn. Sullen. It makes him frown at his plate at dinner, makes him keep his head down when he thinks someone could be looking.

"Derek," Talia says one night. "Your father and I would like to talk to you after dinner. In your dad's office."

Derek's grip tightens on his fork. His dad's office is sound-proof, the only private room in the whole house. Were they finally going to punish him? Almost a year after he tried to kill them?

He goes to the office after dinner, stares at the toes of his sneakers as his dad closes the door behind them and comes around to stand in front of him with Talia. He doesn't know what his punishment will be but it's taken them a year to figure it out so it's going to be bad.

Derek takes a sick sort of satisfaction in that.

"Derek," Talia says. "Derek, sweetie, I need to tell you something."

"We need to tell you something," Adrian says. "Then your Alpha needs to tell you something."

"We failed you as parents," Talia says. Derek's head jerks up and she meets his eyes evenly. "We didn't protect you. We should have been there when that, that _woman_ \--"

"We know this apology comes late," Adrian says, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder. He also meets his son's eyes. "But we didn't know how to make it. We should have been there for you, son. I'm sorry."

Derek stares at his mom and dad uncomprehendingly. They were apologizing... to him?

"I--I told Kate about us," Derek says. "I told her _everything_. I nearly got us killed because I thought she--" he swallows "--I thought she loved me."

"Derek, she abused you," Talia says. "We thought you understood that but that was another mistake on our part." She looks so, so sad. "She took advantage of you, Derek."

"And that's not your fault," Adrian adds.

Derek snaps. "Not my fault?" he asks loudly. He throws out an arm, encompassing the new furniture, the new paint, the new _walls_. "I almost got us _killed_! I got Stiles killed! All because I was _stupid_ enough to think someone could actually _like_ me!" He knows his eyes are glowing beta yellow and he _doesn't care_. "I should have known better and all you can say is that it's not my fault?! If not mine, then whose?!"

"Kate Argent's," his mother says immediately. Her eyes spark with color which fades quickly. She takes a deep breath. "Kate Argent took advantage of a boy, Derek. You're not an adult. She's almost twice your age. How could you have defended against her? That's what we were supposed to do. We were supposed to protect you."

"I-- I _knew_ ," Derek says. He doesn't know what he knew; he just knows that he knew something. He had to have. It's his fault.

"No, Derek," his dad says firmly. "You didn't."

Derek looks at him with a lost expression.

"We hope," Talia says, "that you can one day forgive us. Forgive us for failing you."

"I--" Derek says. "I, of course I do but you didn't-- I mean, you didn't _know_ \--"

They exchange looks as Derek flounders.

"We'll revisit the issue," Adrian says, looking at Derek with something like sympathy. "When you've had time to think."

Derek nods, speechless.

"Now," says Talia, "I have something to say to you as your alpha." Her eyes glow red and Adrian takes a step to the side, his posture submissive.

Derek goes back to staring at his sneakers, ears burning.

"Look at me."

Derek, unable to disobey his alpha's command, looks up.

Alpha Hale meets his eyes, mouth stern. "Derek Hale, for your part in Kate Argent's crime, I forgive you."

Derek stares at her with wide eyes. What?

"You had no knowledge of the threat Argent posed," Alpha Hale says. "I find you innocent of all wrongdoing."

"You can't do that," Derek says before he thinks. He shakes his head. "I--I hurt the pack."

"Kate Argent hurt us," Alpha Hale says. "She has been punished adequately."

"But I haven't," Derek blurts out. His thick eyebrows furrow.

Alpha Hale seems to grow as he dominance floods the room. "You question your alpha?"

"No," Derek says quickly. "No, of course not I--"

"Then you're forgiven," Alpha Hale says.

She takes a breath and Talia Hale, his mother, is standing there. She reaches out and pulls Derek, resisting, into a tight embrace.

"Sweetheart," she whispers into his hair. "Sweetheart, it wasn't your fault."

Derek doesn't have the energy to protest anymore. Especially not when a small part of him wants to _believe_ her.

He accepts the warmth of his parents and tries not to feel the way it mends something deep, deep down in his soul.

\-------------------------------------------------

Derek skips school on the one year anniversary of him killin-- of Stiles dying. He doesn't ask permission but he hears his mom phone it in anyway.

He goes to Stiles' grave and he reads.

Derek thinks he can see why this book helped Stiles. There's fantasy and death and reality in this book. He cries.

He  barely notices as the hours go by. He stops more often than he reads, choking on the words. Choking on the gratitude Leslie's parents show Jess, choking on Jess' feelings of abandonment, choking on the loss.

He barely notices as the others show up. The Sheriff and Scott and a pretty woman who smells of the little boy. His family comes too, all lining up a few feet back. Silent. Listening.

_"As for the terrors ahead - for he did not fool himself that they were all behind him - well, you just have to stand up to your fear and not let it squeeze you white. Right, Leslie?"_

Derek... thinks he might understand. He thinks he might understand that it's pointless to think-- to think bad things never happen. Kate was a bad thing, a monster, and horrible. But she's something behind him now, behind all of them, behind everything. He's going to face more Kates, he thinks. And he can't afford to drag the old Kate along with him.

It's a strange feeling, the feeling of putting her aside, making her small and insignificant compared to the future. It's a shift in perspective and Derek isn't sure he quite believes it.

But maybe that disbelief is his fear. The fear that Jess says he's got to stand up too.

The sky is getting darker now, with only a bit of time left before sunset. Derek realizes that he has stopped reading and he clears his throat. No one says anything of his pause and he continues, telling Stiles about Jess' day at school, the conversation with his teacher.

Then he relates how Jess gets some older lumber and he builds a bridge over the dangerous river so it will be safe to get to Terabithia. He builds it because of his experience, because of Leslie, because it has to be safe as he slowly leads May Belle across.

_"'Shhh,' he said. 'Look.'_

_'Where?'_

_'Can't you see 'em?; he whispered. 'All the Terabithians standing on tiptoe to see you.'_

_'Me?'_

_'Shhh, yes. There's a rumor going around that the beautiful girl arriving today might be the queen they've been waiting for.'"_

Derek stares at the last sentence. The book ends where it began. Leslie had introduced Terabithia to Jess, Jess now introduces it to May Belle. There's always a beginning and an end in books like these. Especially in sad books like this one.

Movement catches his eye and Derek looks up. There's no one in front of him though the Sheriff has come up beside him. There's nothing but the trees and the dirt from Stiles' grave--

The dirt moves, swells and collapses. After another moment, it does it again.

Derek turns wide eyes on the Sheriff, subconsciously clutching his book to his chest. The Sheriff isn't looking at him though he does squeeze his shoulder with one hand. His eyes are trained on the dirt, a fierce joy in his expression.

There's a bigger movement under the dirt now, a shift of something much larger than any animal that burrows around here. Derek thinks this is an illusion. This can't be. He-- the Sheriff was in denial. It isn't possible.

A hand presses up and through the dirt and it's small and pale and _whole_. A moment later, there's another hand. Then an arm. Then a shoulder.

Stiles sits up out of the dirt, blinking sleepy eyes at his awed audience. They're the color of whiskey and his teeth are white as he smiles at them.

"Hello," he says. He turns his smile towards his dad and it widens. "I missed you."

The Sheriff gives a watery laugh. "I missed you too."

In the next second, the Sheriff has Stiles scooped up into his arms, a whoop of joy flying from his lips. Stiles laughs, hugging his dad back, happy to be there, to be in this moment. The dirt slides from his skin and he looks like something wild and untamed and--

He looks, to Derek, like a noble from Terabithia.

"Oh," Stiles says, eyes fastening on Derek. He's out of his dad's arms in a flash, merriment fading from his face and into alarm. "No, no, what's wrong? Did it not work? Why are you crying?"

Derek touches his hand to his cheek, is somewhat surprised to see the clear moisture clinging to his fingers. He reaches out and throws his arms around Stiles, pulling the younger boy into him, shaking with relief.

Stiles wraps himself up in Derek's grip, reaches up to lay a small, cool hand on Derek's cheek. "Derek what's wrong?"

Derek pulls back enough to smile in Stiles' face. "Nothing." He takes a shaky breath. Says, "It's okay. It's okay."


End file.
